Too Much Happiness
by Procrastinating Penguin
Summary: It was the only Rule: Look, not touch. It held true for everything... flesh and hearts alike. Sequel to Above the Orange Tree AU //Kaito x Aoko//
1. Prologue

**Too Much Happiness**

**Prologue**

_Disclaimer: Do not own._

_It was not a place for the faint of heart._

_The aroma of sweet fruit and spice hangs in the air, swooning the __senses. Here, it is night. The darkness is gentle; it coaxes you from the doorway, offering a place of refuge for the beaten, the lonely, and the broken to lick their wounds. Around you, there are dazzling lights. Songs. Laughter. Before you, soft chinks of glass peppered the air as magical potions are mixed, the colours capturing your eyes in a daze, the taste melting the strangled sob in your throat. You feel warm._

_Here, names are not necessary. You can meet Dr. Watson, Ellery Queen, Sherlock Holmes - and perhaps, with a stroke of luck, Arsene Lupin himself. Conversations are light and cheerful. Even the meek are coaxed from their shells. There is much laughter - __loud, sharp barks let loose in the open, high tittering stifled behind bashful hands, giggles in between the hiccups. It is night, but the playground is brimming with life. The boy leans over and whispers a secret in the girls' ears. She blushes. He teases her. She playfully pushes him away. The boy makes as if to leave. Stunned, she whines, tugging the boy back, threatening grief if he were to go. Bargaining. Pleading. Promising him prizes if the boy chooses to stay. His eyes crinkle with good humour. He knows the game of cat-and-mouse well: he tugs at the strings of her heart and, in turn, she shall tug open the strings of her purse._

_He comforts and he teases. He loves and then he leaves. The glass is refilled again and again. The honeyed tonics numb him, but his smiles never falter. There is a quiet tinkling of bells, announcing the entrance of a new child on the playground. The Mother calls out for the boy. The girl weeps, dismayed that their play date is to be cut short. The boy hesitated. Slowly, he leans in toward the girl, brushing right past her waiting lips and drawing one red rose from behind her ear._

_"Till next time, ojousan," the boy grins._

_It was not a place for the young of heart. There was only one rule: look, but don't touch._

_It held true for everything - flesh and hearts alike._

**A/N: At the risk of spoiling the story, there is going to be a happy ending.**

**(...** **wait, _what_?)**

**Happy Reading~!**


	2. Chapter One: Joy

**Chapter One: Joy**

_Disclaimer: DCMK is mine... not._

_(Sorry.)_

Perhaps, she should. _Don't_. Move. _Forget._ And.

On.

The dish fell from her hands into the sink with a wet _plop_, spilling water all over her apron. Startled, Nakamori Aoko leapt back, momentarily forgetting herself and swept her soap-soaked hands through her scraggly hair, pausing to collect her nerves. There was an irritated _clack-clacking _of sandals echoing down the tiled hall. The familiar footsteps, weighed down by the girth of middle age, sent Aoko's stomach into a knot of dread.

"Nakamori, didn't you hear me calling for you five minutes ago?" a woman's face poked through the curtain of beads into the kitchen, her dragging jowls knotted in one pinched scowl. "There are three tables waiting for their orders to be taken. Perhaps you forgot that you're not getting paid for daydreaming?"

"I apologize. I thought Sato-san wanted me to do the dishes first -"

"Don't get cheeky with me, girl," the_izakaya_ owner snorted. "You get fed when the customer gets fed, understand?"

Swallowing a glut of choice words rising to her throat, Aoko nodded stiffly. "Yes, Sato-san."

The older woman swept her eyes down the length of her soaked apron. Her lips curled up in disdain. "And tidy yourself up before going out. You'll scare away the customers."

"Yes, Sato-san."

"Don't just stand there, then," The woman snapped. "Tie your hair up – you look like a stray dog with your hair sticking out all over the place." Her head was about to disappear behind the curtains when Aoko called out.

"Wait, Sato-san – the dishes aren't cleaned yet. What should I use to serve the customers their food?"

There was a brief pause. Then, sliding the lids over the browns of her eyes almost scornfully, Akiye Sato said in a flat voice, "Wash them. You can do _that_ much, can't you?"

With that, the curtains fell into place, swallowing the last of the woman's scornful sneer from sight, leaving the girl, red-faced and powerless, in her wake.

-

She woke up.

It was morning. Early. The paper doors were poorly illuminated with the sparse morning light. The room was bathed in a greyish blue haze. Slowly, Aoko sat up from the bed, sweeping one hand across her tousled bangs.

A dream.

No.

Pushing the blankets off her, Aoko brought her knees to her chest. The air came in slow, laboured gulps. She was tired. Limbs throbbing with a dull ache. Chores were to be rushed through in the morning. Her father, Nakamori Ginzo, cared for from noon to early evening. When the sun set and the man safely tucked in bed, she had hurried to the one and only _izakaya_ in town, one block from the train station. It was mostly middle-aged business men who frequented the place. Tie-wearing, briefcase-carrying, stiff-lipped office workers that, after three shots of whiskey, either broke into sobs about the cuteness of their daughter/son/grandchildren, taking the photo from their wallet and demanding affirmation from anyone unfortunate enough to catch his eyes - or took off their ties, wrap it around their heads, and started dancing (badly) on table tops. Aside from waiting the tables and coaxing the occasional reluctant drunk into getting home, she had to close up shop, meaning at least an hour and a half of scrubbing, washing, sweeping, and scraping God-knows-what from the porch outside.

It was hard work, but worth it.

From across the hall and through the flimsy paper doors, she could hear her Tousan quietly snoring away. It was an even, deep rasp that bubbled deep from his throat, staccato with the occasional loud grunt. Aoko hugged her knees tighter to herself. The snoring, as much of a nuisance it was, soothed her. It hadn't changed at all. Not even after the incident.

At least, in sleep, he was still her Touchan.

Aoko closed her eyes.

A dream.

She had dreamt. So vivid and intense as if it had really happened. _(it did)_ But she could not bring herself to admit that. To acknowledge the dream would be to acknowledge the thin sheen of sweat coating her body, the way the muscles ached in places that, tried as she might, would not strain even if she bussed tables upside down on her head - the way something stirred- a smouldering fire, ready to roar back into life with the tiniest spark - snaking itself through the webs of her veins, growing, clenching, suffocating, throbbing through out her body. Unsatisfied. To acknowledge the dream would to be to acknowledge _him_.

The white slip of paper teasing from just beneath her pillow, addressed from the a place faraway. Tokyo. It would be acknowledging her weakness.

_I'm sorry._

It was not a dream meant to be shared. Not even with one's best friend. It was not a dream where the snippets of their carefree high school days were picked and plastered in a wonderfully clustered collage, flitting in and out of focus – the good parts bright and sharp with colours and the bad ( -in hindsight, they really couldn't be called so) fading to a haze, the ache diluted by time. This dream was more real. Clear.

Aoko took a deep breath.

It was the night they had sneaked into the school. The night they shared up on the wall before the school. When he had grabbed her hand and led her - almost flying - up the stairs onto the rooftop to look at the stars. And when he let go, it was her turn to be the cat and she had given chase. Falling on top and all over each other in a tangle of arms, rolling, tumbling, laughing, she had caught him.

The one and only time she had succeeded.

And then, too soon - he was about to leave again. Like always. Panicking, she had grabbed onto him. Had said -

_Don't go._

It had hurt. Like _hell._ None of Keiko's flowery romance novels had wrote about the pain. When he first entered her, she felt as if her insides had torn in half and really thought she might die. Her first instinct was to punch him in the face. She had clenched her fists, trying to keep her eyes from smarting, when his head suddenly dipped down, hands brushing the damp hair from her eyes, his breath hot and voice soft and closing in, murmuring -

_I'm sorry._

And there, she saw regret, in the blues of his eyes.

In the end she held onto him. He was gentle, lessening the pain with butterfly kisses across her skin. His slender fingers dancing upon her flesh as a pianist would on piano keys, coaxing sounds from her lips that she didn't even know existed. At first, it had been awkward, neither of know quite how to begin exploring the foreign landscape that they had been taught to fear, perhaps even to be repulsed by. He was the first one to break from the reverie, capturing her hands in his and brushing his lips over each finger tip. And from there, his hands - his eyes - explored. The touches had been clumsy to start. Hesitant. Tracing uneven lines down her body. His breaths grew more and more ragged - and for one moment when his fingers grazed by her breast, she thought he must've noticed her thumping heart. Each and every frenzied beat visible to the naked eye.

_Kaito, wait._

His hands paused around her waist. Curiousity glinting in his eyes. Trying to keep her own hands from shaking, she raised them to his face, gently folding them over his eyes.

_Close your eyes._

He obeyed. Slowly, Aoko ran her hands through his dark hair, the angle of his cheekbones, down to disciplined contours of his muscles, feeling them tauten under her fingertips. The heat from his flesh blending in with the warmth of her hands.

_You can open your eyes now._

He had pushed her onto the table, his slender fingers threading through her trembling ones. Pinned beneath him, she looked up into his eyes, the pupils dilating to whirlpools of black, black night, swallowing everything - the room, the air, _her_ - in its path.

And he was no longer Kaito. Not the little boy who offered her his scoop of ice cream when she had dropped both of hers. Not the young man who teased her about skirt, doodled on _her_notes, stole oranges and held her for hours on end when she cried over the poor little stray cat that had been run over in the street. It was a different Kaito - grown up and, as she realized with a sharp intake of breath as his weight pressed against her - a man.

It was an odd and yet comforting thought. Was he, Kaito, seeing her as a woman?

Then - a gasp, the pain bringing her back from reality.

_Will you marry me?_

Aoko opened her eyes. Faintly, she could hear the sparrows scampering out in the courtyard. The mailman would come by at daybreak. Her ears would strain for the tell-tale _thumpity-thump_ of the heavy mail bag against the mailman's clothed thigh as he came up the road. The high _squeak_ of the rusty mail box as the letters were carelessly shoved in through narrow flap.

It was silly, of course. He was not going to write.

Aoko pulled the quilt up to her waist. Waiting.

_"Forgive me."_

Summer was gone.

**A/n: _Izakaya:_ a Japanese snack bar where people go after work to unwind. **

**I do apologize for the lag in updates. The plunnies are over all the plce for TMH. And also, Diresphinx had kindly requested to know what my version of a "happy ending" is. To be honest, I thought the ending for Orange Tree was quite... happy? *runs away, ducks behind Hakuba* **

**Pitchforks aside, TMH will have a happy ending as promised. Happy as in... KaitoxAoko happy? ^^ I will not be so evil this time.**

**Reviews will be much appreciated. ^^ Some cookies for the sugar-loving penguin?**


	3. Chapter Two: Delirium

**Chapter Two:**** Delirium**

_Disclaimer: Don't own_.

There was a lot to be said for the streets of Tokyo after dark.

There were still people. Some drunk. They stumbled on the street like headless flies, singing one slurred song after another about the joy of love, the joy of life, the joy of family - and then flushing all that happiness down with one large gulp from the bottle. Belch. And then happily embrace, head-first, with the nearest wall. The occasional businessman or woman clack-clacking their busy heels down the street, hurrying to catch the last train of the night. A dog wondered by. It came close to Kaito, its nose sweeping low to the ground - then, as if detecting an unpleasant scent, crinkled up its brows and drew back, circumventing the long way -away from the young man - before sweeping its long droopy tail into an alley. For a moment Kaito found himself paused at the edge of shadows, peering into the darkness where the dog had slunk into. Vaguely, he wondered what it was that had repulsed the dog. His scent? Kaito brought one of his cuffs forth to his nose and sniffed. Cologne. And perfume. He was reeking of roses, spices, gin (one of the women, in trying to nuzzle her face into the crook of his neck, had completely lost her grip on her glass and spilled the drink into his lap) - tens of scents that smell wonderful by themselves but completely indistinguishable blended. Funny. He thought. The dog hadn't avoided one of the stumbling drunks.

His white suit was wrinkled from a night of... what, exactly, he couldn't say. Partying? Entertaining? Keeping company. Yes, he supposed that was an adequate description. Keeping company.

He was tired.

The dress shoes dragging on the on the pavement, he turned his back on the bright city lights and turned down into an alleyway. The darkness offered comfort - perhaps it was the ungodly hours he worked, but the ever constant blaze of the sleepless city was really getting on his nerves. He felt like a monkey who was trapped in the spotlight. The curtains never fell in such a place. His apartment, with its tired grey walls pockmarked with mildew, greeted him. The balconies grinned back at him like badly protruded teeth. Two floors up, there were some flower pots hanging on the balcony. The withered dirt with its brown, naked stems. Once upon a long time ago, they would've been beautiful roses. He wished that he could go up to the neighbour and knock on their door. _Hello_, he would've said. Smile. Offer a hand. _I can bring your roses back to life._

Or maybe not.

Fishing the keys from his pocket, he eased the door open. Grateful that it did not groan in protest as it so often did (because really, he didn't think he could handle his landlady fishing for gossip at this hour - "Where did you go? Oh, it's terribly dangerous for a young man like you to wonder the streets at night, Kaito-kun. Doesn't your girlfriend mind?")

Stealing quietly up the stairs, Kaito realized that he was thirsty. And perhaps, just the faintest twinge of hunger. The hunger surprised him. He hadn't much appetite these days. Without looking he already know that the fridge was bare; though, with some luck, he might be able to find a hunk of dried-up cabbage lurking in the back somewhere. Kaito felt himself smile at his sorry state of affairs. Ah, well. It wasn't as if he was missing out on much. Everything else tasted like dried-up old cabbage anyways.

"Hello."

He froze in his tracks. For a second his heart leapt into his throat; his eyes immdeidately tracing over the familiar silhouette slouched against the door. Then, having sensed his arrival, the figure stepped from the shadows; her hallowed features thrust into focus by the dim florescent light of the hallway.

"Mori-san."

His heart fell.

It was a young woman. She had a tired air about her; her young prettiness eroded by the weariness in her face, her thinning limbs. Her long, dark hair strung about her face like broken spider webs. Tentatively, Mori smiled, the smile not quite touching her eyes. She took a cautious step forward. Her eyes never leaving his face. He didn't smile back.

"It's late," Kaito said stiffly. "You shouldn't be here."

She flinched as if he had physically reached out and struck her. She looked down at her feet, looked up, and then looked down again.

"I can't sleep."

He breathed out – a deep, long breath that instead of lessening, only seemed to add to the tension in his bones. He ran a hand through his dark hair, tousling it into greater disarray. Mori looked down at her shoes, not unlike a child who had done something wrong and was waiting to be send to bed without dinner. A cloth bag hung down the crook of her arm. Kaito had a vivid flashback of a girl - looking the woman's exact mirror image - slinging a schoolbag in one arm and a bag of vegetables in the other, bouncing on the balls of her feet as she skipped down the road; the sun bathing her smile in a light so gold and bright it almost hurt to look -

_"I can carry it myself, Kaito."_

"I brought dinner." Her hands clutching at the bag strap so hard that the knuckles stood out a ghostly white under the light, Mori smiled tentatively."And... chocolate. I know it's your favourite."

He said nothing.

"Please."

_"I made the rice cakes myself."_

It was late. Wordlessly, he strode forward and brushed right past her. For a second he stood before the door, the woman inches away from him and he could feel the tension in her shoulders. She was staring at her shoes, the veil of her bangs hiding her face. Slowly, Kaito unlocked the door, the key turning the lock loose with a crisp _click _that echoed down the empty hallway. He didn't look at her.

"Come in."

**A/N: It hasn't been one whole month since I've last updated this story. Nope. Not at all. *grins and flees***


	4. Chapter Three: Nostalgia

**Chapter Three**_: Nostalgia_

Disclaimer: Well... you know the drill. I own Detective Conan, and that is why KID is not a womanizer.

_Almost inexplicably, he found his eyes tracing over the slope of her jowls, the arc of her neck, down the sharp angle of her clavicle peeking from the tangled bed sheets; her chest rising and falling with each even breath. A strand of hair had fallen across her face. Her eyelashes fluttered. (Her eyes were blue. Blue like a rain kissed sky. The deep blue of a swallow's coat, tail forked and wings bent, ready to take flight...)_

_He sat up from the bed. Hesitated, then, cautiously so that he would not wake her, Kaito leaned over and drape his share of the bedding onto her bare flesh. Her arms weren't well-muscled, he noticed. All might had seeped from her body. Her skin had the unhealthy tinge of pallor of someone who hid in the house and avoided outings the best she could. Her hair tumbled over the pillow in thick ripples, through which his fingers had grasped upon in a passionate fit a moment earlier._

_Gently, he ran a hand through her hair._

"...Shinichi."

_The name of another man. Under normal circumstances, Kaito supposed that he should've felt anger. Outrage, perhaps. To a passing bystander, it would've only been too normal if he exploded in rage, wouldn't it? That one would utter the name of their lover in another one's bed. But only a deep wave of sadness washed over him. He raked his fingers gently through her locks, somewhat at a loss of how long they ran on._

_It was getting light outside. Her eyelashes fluttered. Kaito paused abruptly. His slacks were in a careless rumple on the floor. With a swift hand he quickly gathered himself from the bed and pulled on his shorts and slacks. The early morning air was chilly against his flesh. He had left the window open._

_Her clothes were thrown across the floor in the same manner as his, a messy trail that led up to the bed. Kaito stepped over them and strode toward the dresser. The second drawer from the bottom had a loose knob. He tugged it open easily._

_Paper. Yellowed with age, the letters were tucked carefully in their envelopes and bounded by a rubber hand. His hand ran over its well-worn edges. The ones at the very top were especially weathered. His fingertips paused upon its bumpy surface. The ridges where tape criss-crossed over and into each other, holding the paper together._

_"... Shinichi... why... why did you leave... again?"_

_Her voice trailed off, the words slightly muffled by the pillow. Kaito glanced down at the envelope. The neat black scribbles that laid at the top left corner._

Home.

_Traffic was thickening outside. The street noises slid into the apartment. Voice talking. Cars driving by._

_He closed the drawer._

**A/n: And so the suspense goes on.... *sips tea***


End file.
